Before I Hit the Ground
by ItsALifesJourney
Summary: /"Drive," he repeats once more and this time he pulls his seat belt around his body and hooks it, waiting for her to abide by his gentle request. Nodding, she chokes on the seriousness of their positions./ "Where?"/ /He shrugs his shoulders, "I don't know. Anywhere, somewhere where you're willing to talk to me, and tell me that you're not thinking of leaving me again."/ *complete*
1. Chapter 1

_Before I Hit the Ground_

Elliot/Olivia

Spoilers: Pursuit to Smoked

Story has some alternate universe tendencies. Canon remains canon however. Story was inspired by the song Helium by Sia. Hope you enjoy.

"He's a married, catholic father of five."

"Yes. That would be Elliot."

"But he said…."

"That he should have come back sooner."

"Olivia, most men aren't really the type to show that much of themselves when they feel like their axis has tilted."

"Elliot is… Elliot, Sicily."

" The little you so subtly divulge about him each time I call, says enough."

"I say all I need to say. He's my partner. And, because, again, he's married, catholic father of five.'"

"You divulge very little because if not, it'd run a little too close to divulging something you don't want to."

Sighing, Olivia lifts her cellphone from her ear and sits it down on her coffee table, hitting the speaker option before heading toward the kitchen.

"I'm getting wine now," Olivia states instead of responding. As she reaches to the cupboard door to pull down a glass, she says pointedly, "I'm not on call tonight, so talk about something else or I'm disconnecting and then turning off my phone."

"What? Olivia, I'm just trying to keep up with you is all. I hear about your cases in the news, I see you in the newspaper, yet I hear little about your life, from just you."

"Sicily, little has changed," Olivia interjects resignedly as she pours red wine into her wine glass. "I mean it."

"You mean little has changed … with Elliot."

"I'll disconnect."

"Fine. Sure. Whatever."

Dropping back down onto the sofa after she reenters the living room, Olivia sighs as she stares at the screen of her cellphone.

The conversation she's having with her childhood friend resonates further in her mind now that that the sun has set and the dreary, desolate glimmer of seclusion can rattle her.

"Have you talked to anyone?"

"For what?"

"For your drinking."

Raising her brows, Olivia picks up the phone with a free hand and talks into it as if her friend can see how rattled the question has made her.

"What?"

"I'm just kidding, but that did get your attention, did it not?"

"Sic, I have never wanted to talk with a shrink. When I do go, I just feel like I've told every deep dark secret that I could possible harbor when in actuality, I've said little to nothing. I don't like…feeling exposed."

"I totally get it, Olivia. But this was someone you worked with. Closely, am I right?"

Taking a sip of wine, Olivia lets it seep into her tongue before swallowing harshly, washing away the images of Sonya's blood with the sound of her own swallow inside her ears.

"Yes," she rasps at first. "She was the acting A.D.A. We've had a revolving door since Novak. But, but Sonya, she'd been around for some tough cases lately. She had some problems of her own…but..."

"Well at least you're talking to me."

Scoffing lightly, Olivia continues, "I just really… didn't want to see her go like that."

Silence permeates the atmosphere on both sides of the connection.

Olivia tip toes around the glaring red stop sign in her mind and then runs right through it when she exposes a truth about the situation.

"I didn't want to her die at her _lowest_."

"Did she have family?"

"No," Olivia breathes out simply. "No she didn't. She only had me at that moment."

She hears her friend breathe on the other line, not knowing her facial expressions, not knowing her thoughts or hearing a reprieve. Olivia starts to feel the overwhelming cacophony of the earlier sirens vibrating against her skull, muffled voices all around her and the smell of dried blood on her skin.

"Olivia?"

Sicily quietly calls out to her over the connection, but Olivia's mind takes a nose dive off a precipice she thought she was father away from. Sonya's lifeless gape, and the smell of alcohol on her dying breath wafts through Olivia's memory and suddenly Olivia's on her feet before she can contemplate why she should sit back down.

"Sonya Paxton was just like my mother. A drunk. Belligerent at times. And isolated from those who might care for her. That's why I haven't talked about it."

"That's why you called tonight?"

"Not completely."

"Why?" her old friend prods gently.

"Because… because my _own_ mother died going down a flight of stairs and Sonya died in my arms, the same arms I wrapped around my partner not an hour later."

"There's something wrong about that to you?"

"Yes!" Olivia unintentionally hisses, throwing her body forward, as she paces with her cellphone in front of her face. "My mother could make me feel like the dirt on the ground. Sonya reminded me of her so much. She treated our unit like shit, but now I understand why. Now I understand why my mother treated me the way she did."

"They had their own demons."

"Exactly. And I don't want to be like that. I don't want to treat anyone like that."

"And Elliot showing up when he did?"

"When he turned that corner as I came out of the bathroom where I left Sonya…. It's…. _It's why I haven't hit the ground yet."_

 **. . .**

The look of confusion on the blonde's face doesn't surprise her when the other woman opens the door to _their_ Queens home at, and looks down at her watch, 10:58 p.m.

"Olivia?"

"Kathy hi, I… uh, I know it's late, but is Elliot awake? It's important."

Olivia steps backward a step, allowing the blonde to push open the screen and steps outside.

"Yeah, he's upstairs settling Eli into bed… finally."

Olivia slides one hand into her back pocket, and lets the other one hang limp at her side, not knowing exactly why she drove all the way to Queens this late at night. She pretends she doesn't feel the shift inside her, pretends it is not rumbling within like a low magnitude earthquake.

"I can wait out here," she shrugs slightly as she steps down the top stair and turns toward where she parked across the street.

"Olivia, is everything okay?"

Olivia turns her head toward Kathy again, not making eye contact at first, but eventually connecting with the only other set of blue eyes that send a pang down her chest.

After a moment, Olivia nods her head, while biting back a cheeky retort of _No. Why else would I be here?_

She then turns her head a little more, this time toward the front door as if to prod the other woman to send Elliot down. "Yeah, fine. We're on call tonight," she lies… "and I just wanted to get on the same page with him, in the chance a case comes along."

Kathy nods slowly, something obviously on the tip of her tongue as well, but she turns and heads back inside. "He'll be right down," she reassures as she disappears behind the front door.

Olivia stuffs her hands in her jacket pockets as she nudges a patch of grass with her foot. She waits for him to come down, trying to think of something to make her sound less pathetic than she really is as to why she's at his doorstep at nearly eleven o'clock at night.

She only closes her eyes briefly before a white flash behind her eyes takes her back to the sterile atmosphere of that Cathedral restroom and Melinda's deep, professional voice as she examines the crime scene.

"Olivia."

Her eyes snap open and it's not Melinda's voice anymore, but Elliot's as he stands on the bottom stair of his porch. He watches her at her position on the narrow sidewalk with his own hands stuffed into his sweatpants pockets; the loose material slung low on his hips.

She takes note of his off duty apparel and regretfully informs herself that she wasted precious time reliving the scene from several hours earlier instead of finding a way to tell Elliot that…. she's losing it.

"Liv?"

His softer vibrato startles her and she's unable to make eye contact, instead, she glances in the direction of her car across the street..

She feels her eyes blurring then, and she fights against it before turning her head towards him.

"I'm fine," she pushes out, her voice muffled by the emotion swelling up inside her chest.

He propels himself down the last porch step then, noticing the difference in her and stands toe to toe so she can't look away. He removes his hands from his pockets and they twitch at his sides as he stares at her with worried eyes, his head slightly tilted.

"I didn't say you weren't…." he whispers with his eyebrows knitted tightly together, being softer in nature than she's seen him most cases. She supposes it's due to his time at Quantico, plus the down time he's had at home, the time spent away from the evil.

The question in his eyes almost sends her into a panic because there's only a few times he's ever looked at her like this and she knows she must be handling this worse than she thought if now is one of those.

"I'm…." she starts and runs a hand through her ruffled brunette waves. "I just wanted to come by and let you know again that I'm… happy that you're back," she replies, her voice tapering off with each syllable.

His eyes never leave her form, despite her eyes roaming all around them, and she sees how he noticeably swallows, and then nods.

"What's…," he starts to say with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "What's with the… look you have then?"

Sniffing inadvertently, she smiles at the irony of him asking why she looks like this. But she doesn't hold it against him because they don't normally do this. She can count on both hands the amount of times they've been together at this hour, that didn't involve a case.

"Actually, Elliot…" she breathes out, finally filling her lungs with air and pushing forward toward that ever looming precipice. "I just…. Needed… someone to talk to tonight… someone who saw…. What I saw. That's all. I really didn't mean to disrupt your first night back in Queens. I guess I could have talked to you tomorrow, but… I…"

"Liv," Elliot softly interjects, lightly grasping onto her flailing arms she hadn't realized were bobbing around as she tried to interject some logic into her visit tonight.

The truth slowly creeps into them both as his warm palm encircles the knuckles of her right hand. She's going through some sort of breakdown over the emotional trauma of watching Sonya Paxton die.

And she's letting herself need his comfort.

The impact of that truth seeps into them both as his warm palms slide up her wrist and around her forearms. His eyes are focused on this action while hers trail down his forearm, towards his chest and then land on the side of his face.

She watches the way he's trying, really trying to soothe something he doesn't quite grasp inside of her. At least not yet.

"You're okay," she thinks she hears him plea. Lifting her free hand, she lays it flatly against his shoulder and she finds herself awkward and unsettled by the proximity of their stances, but oddly at peace with the warmth that seeps into her stomach as he rubs her arm with his palm.

"I'm sorry, Elliot," she finally huffs out after a few moments of his comfort. "I'm a mess and we can forget about this. I'll let you get back inside with your family. I just needed to talk to you for a few minutes."

His hand stills but he doesn't step away.

"I don't think you should go home right now," he mutters into the darkness, their forms bathed in the slight beige glow of his porch light. It streams over the narrow sidewalk that leads from his porch to the street and spills over them.

"Yeah, but… you don't need my problems."

"Your problems are as a good as mine."

"Elliot," she sighs as she tries to step away, her arms slipping from his grasp. "I tried... I really did."

Taking a deep breath, Elliot straightens his back before loosening up again and crossing his arms lazily over his chest.

"What did you try?"

She shakes her head, not wanting to go there again, not wanting to burden him with her own demons slowly materializing out of the crevices of her interior. But she doesn't get a chance to hide away as Elliot's hand is wrapped firmly around her bicep this time, the heat from his touch enough to seep through the material of her jacket.

"Olivia, tell me," he prods gently. The moment washes against her, a gentle reminder of a similar moment inside the sedan when she'd found Simon. "Tell me. You're not thinking of doing something, are you?"

Glancing up with moisture in her eyes, her brows pinch together before she angrily pulls away.

"No."

"Then what, Liv. I haven't seen you like this in a while. I should have come back from Quantico before this case got too far along. I should have done my part, look at you," he admits, rubbing his forehead.

"I'm fine, Elliot."

Sighing, his chest visibly deflates as he steps a few feet away before running a wary hand down the back of his closely shaved head.

Licking the inside of his bottom lip, he then looks at her, and prods with his eyes first before vocally.

"Then, what'd you try?" His eyebrows furrow, his face contorted, still bathed in the subtle porch light, much like the night he'd found out his hero had been a fraud. The night she'd been willing to go out with the older man, dressed in a blue silk dress.

Except she doesn't have the silk to hide behind this time. Just the gruff exterior of a beat down cop who's admitting defeat. Dick Finley isn't the fraud this time, it's her. She's let her emotional guard down and now she can't separate her heart from the case. It's all just so much.

"I tried not to compare her to my mother. But I did and now I can't stop thinking about her dying in my arms, her blood on my hands. I almost feel responsible."

His expression only wavers slightly as his posture deflates further, with another rush of air from his mouth. He plants his hands high on his hips, stepping closer once more and she feels the tension in his body before he even touches her.

He stands close, but he doesn't make contact yet. His hands fall to the side and she notices the nervous twitch in his fingertips. Surely, they're filled with the electricity ready to slice through her much as they had earlier that day and just a few minutes before.

That afternoon, his fingertips had run gently across her back and she'd not been able to keep from falling against him in that hallway. Her body had collided with his as if in an electromagnetic field.

His body kept hers upright with the embrace, and his presence, his urgency had kept her feet on the ground.

She doesn't recall a moment in their partnership of absolutely needing to see him from around the corner as she had in that moment.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the subtle lift of his hand and she almost laughs because she imagines the blue sparkle of electricity spiraling from his fingertips as he brings his hand to her hand.

She imagines he's going to duplicate that moment, that image in her mind of him holding her together, but she's one step ahead of him. He's already done too much. This isn't his problem; he's done his job. He's already stood there and taken in her problems.

Pulling away from his hand paused in mid-air, she swallows, closes her eyes and reopens them to the confused expression on her partner's face.

"I'm going to go. I need to do a few things, then I'm going to head home."

Nodding with his hands back on his low-slung sweats, his bites the inside of his cheek but doesn't protest this time. "Unfinished business with Alicia Harding?" he asks, knowing her well enough to know she won't be heading home soon, instead she'll be taking this case one step further, working until she's far enough away from that precipice.

Sighing, she turns on her heels and looks at him from the corner of her eye, biting her bottom lips before nodding, "I'll see you tomorrow. Thank you…." she trails off, "Thank you for tonight. Go back inside. See you at the station."

She turns and leaves this time. She doesn't look over her shoulder because she knows the look on his face too well. It'll only leave her wanting more from him, something he can't give her right now. But his presence must be enough.

She should accept that. He should accept that.

As she pulls the car around and drives back down the way she came, she looks in the rearview mirror and the solid frame of his build is replaced by the solid glow of the porch light, the ground where he had stood bare.

The ground where she stood, bathed in half in darkness, half in light.

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

_Before I Hit the Ground_

Chapter 2

Elliot/Olivia

Spoilers: Maybe slight references to the remaining episodes after Pursuit, season 12. This story will take on its own AU universe while keeping the history of the characters intact.

She shoots up in bed two nights later. A cold sweat coating her skin.

She peels herself from the sheets that cling to her limbs, and lumbers sleepily toward her bathroom.

There, she looks at herself in the mirror, noting the dampness of the strands of her hair that are matted to her temple. Licking her lips, she turns the faucet on, letting it get ice cold. She then squeezes her eyes tightly closed before reaching down and splashing the icy escape against her face.

She does it several times, bunching her lids tighter and tighter with each pool of water she gathers in her palms, until she sees silvers spots behind her lids. Any sight will do other than the night terrors still weaving within her conscience.

This time it was her mother. Serena was opening a mini vodka as Olivia was coming out of a stall in that infamous bathroom but they weren't alone. They're never alone. Instead of falling down a flight of subway steps, Olivia had watched a masked man slit her mother's throat, her body floating in midair for more time than humanly possible before falling in a head of mangled limbs on the floor. The masked man then just disappeared into the thin air and Olivia had sat there in her dream helpless, her gun glued to her waist as she watched in horror, mouth agape as her mother's blood pooled around her body.

After a breath, she opens her eyes and stares at her reflection, the deep circles under eyes enough of an indication that she's not had enough sleep tonight or any night recently. And then there's the heaviness pressing on her spine, traveling up her neck and into her head.

A moment passes and a chill slithers across her skin and that's when something catches her eye from behind her.

A black silhouette stands in the corner behind the bathroom door and her heart rate increases as fear simultaneously chokes her.

She flings her body around on instinct, hands in the air, fingers splayed in an attempt at an upward palm strike.

But when her eyes adjust to the darkness that was behind her, the only presence is her overactive imagination.

She pulls on the door harshly and the hinges squeal as she peers around it, behind it, in front of it.

Alicia Harding's stalker is in prison, rotting away at this very moment as she stumbles through the aftermath playing in an overwhelmingly continuous loop in her brain.

Taking a deep breath, she steps backward until her back presses against the porcelain top of her bathroom sink. Her head sinks low and she fights the urge to call Sicily.

She also fights the urge to unlock her private pistol and take aim at the closet shooting range to ward off the anxiety creeping into her resolve ever so subtly.

"I wish you would get out of that unit," Olivia hears her mother's voice chime from an area of her conscience she hasn't let speak until recently.

"Mom," Olivia warns in real time, "I'm not going over this with you again," she voices into the darkness as she flips the bathroom switch off and returns to her bedroom and perspiration soaked linens.

Releasing a haughty breath, she then stares at the crumpled sheets and the realization that she won't sleep another ounce tonight taunts her. If only this were another night, another dusk where she and her partner solve another case and go home and sleep away the grunge of the fight.

But this time it's not as simple. She's already failed once at keeping it out of her life. Two nights ago, she'd failed at hiding how much this case had affected her by dishing out personal information to Sicily.

Then, and she kicks herself, she sought out Elliot, knowing full well he had so much on his own plate already. The self-deprecation runs deep and she fights herself again now because, she'd give anything to talk to him once more right now, despite being deeply embarrassed over the first time..

For him to come over and give her place the once over, because despite the empty apartment and her conscious knowledge of the fact that she's alone, she just wants that stability right now. Stabler.

"God, get ahold of yourself," she seethes into the darkness, the silver glow of nightfall the only compass in her own darkness.

She finally finds the energy and fists the sheets near her position at the foot of her bed, and yanks them off, pulling the pillows with them. She pulls off the pillowcases too and balls them up with the sheets and heads toward the apartment laundry room.

Maybe the hum of her sweat soaked coat of armor being spun inside the machines will drown out that beating drum in her head, the one that keeps waking her in the silence of the night. The one that keeps reminding her that she's not all that different than those that have perished before her. Sonya. Serena. Maybe the ties are closer than ever and maybe that's what she's afraid of. Being just like them and needing someone else's reassurance that she's not on that same path.

 **. . .**

He's waiting for her the next time she pulls up, and she's not sure if it's because her world's off its axis or if it's just fate, but it's the second night that they've not been called in on a case at this hour.

She sits stoic in the driver's seat and the engine is already starting to cool when she spots him on the front porch.

He'd obviously seen her when she pulled up moments ago but he hasn't budged, she assumes he's giving her the opportunity to run before he reveals the worry lines starting to carve themselves deep within his skin when she's around.

But she doesn't budge, she sits quietly, staring at her hands as they curve around the steering wheel. They flex and fidget such a minuscule amount that she wonders if she's truly awake right now. She wonders if she really just drove the thirty-five minutes across the Queensboro Bridge to Elliot's house again. She wonders if he's really sitting outside, waiting for her to return and if his eyes are truly as worried for her as she thinks they are.

Because this is no ordinary post case anxiety. This is deeper and she wants to tell him that, she wants to focus on the way her chest will fill again with air with the relief but she's not sure how.

It's his presence that startles her. He floats in like an apparition and she doesn't recall when he'd moved from the corner of her line of sight and into the driver's side window.

But he's there. He doesn't speak, but she rolls down her window the rest of the way so he can lean his forearms against the sill.

She stares ahead for only a moment before taking in his appearance. He has those low-slung sweats on again but this time he's got his running shoes on, and a dark blue NYPD hoodie.

Before she'd left her newly washed linens in the basket inside her front door, she'd opted for her casual jeans and a t-shirt for the drive into Queens.

Sighing, Elliot turns his head away from the inside where she's perched and she notices his glance toward his front porch, the light dim but she imagines his wife is watching them.

A thimble of regret pools in her stomach but she doesn't allow it to surface, at least not yet.

"We're at a good place…, right?"

Elliot's eyes return to the interior of the car and she feels his powder blue irises paint the side of her face as she glances down at her hands still perched on the steering wheel.

He laughs the softest laugh she imagines he contains and leans his head inside slightly more.

"This is a rough neighborhood but we've been lucky so far," he jokes softly.

She lets his joke roll off her and she smiles sadly as she turns to him.

"I mean, me and you," she turns and lets her dark eyes connect with his finally. "We're in a …good place, right? I mean, as partners…, friends?"

Swallowing, Elliot stares at her, his worry lines bunching up ever so gently and she has to keep herself from reaching out and smoothing them out with her fingers. She blames herself partly for half of those, she hands off the rest to his kids. And Kathy. But his voice cuts in before those thoughts tangle themselves deeper.

"Yeah," he breathes out. "S'been good. We're good, Li-."

"Because…" she interrupts softly, keeping her eyes trained on her hands again, "it hasn't always been good between us. I mean, Gitano, Oregon, Computer Crimes," she whispers.

"We're good," he reiterates. "We're partners. And I'd like to think we can… talk things out now. Because…," he trails off.

 _You abandoned me. You've never been gun-shy before._

It's what he doesn't say. She doesn't give him enough credit for the bullshit she has done to them. It's surprising they have anything left in them, he's given her far more chances than she thinks she's got inside of her to deserve.

"I just don't want to step on trepid ground, Elliot."

He sucks in his bottom lips, licking it before releasing it on a breath, "You're not," he shakes his head gently. "You want to talk?"

"I can't…" she answers immediately and she wants to scream at the fact that she really wants to but doesn't know what to tell him and her voice shakes much like her core.

"Two nights, two nights, Olivia."

"I know."

"I won't fight you. But if this is what you're aiming for, then I'll do it. I'm not used to you like this."

"I'm not going to argue with you because I don't even know what I want to argue, Elliot."

She stops and catches his eyes again. He's itching for an argument and she doesn't blame him. She comes. She worries him. She refuses to talk. She leaves. She sulks in her own darkness. Olivia takes claim of the cycle and considers patenting it so at least when she's drained herself of all her energy wishing she could tell him all she needs to, this cycle will be what's left to remind those who come after her that holding in all that darkness isn't particularly fulfilling.

She doesn't learn from her own philosophies and promptly berates herself for showing up again, silently shaking her head. Lightly pounding her palm against the steering wheel, she squeezes her eyes closed briefly before reaching for the keys to start the engine again.

"Elliot, I'm sorry. I'm gonna go. I keep taking you away from your family," and she berates herself again for the double entendre that only makes sense to her in this moment.

Elliot stalls her.

"You're a good cop."

She closes her eyes at the words. A subtle reminder of a time when he'd uttered it to her in her first year, when she was unconvinced she could handle the unit.

"I know."

"You did everything you could."

"I know," she breathes out.

"You don't give y'self enough credit for being stronger than almost anyone out there on the job. Stop doing this to yourself."

She sits and a sad laugh escapes her and she knows he sees the false valor painted on her skin.

She searches for the words but nothing comes and when too much time passes she feels the heat of his palm against her wrist, his warm fingers gently pulling hers away from the wheel and outside where he stands.

"I know it's harder to do than say," he whispers, his forehead creased in a gentle reassurance. "I wasn't here for much of the case, but I know you did what you could."

Swallowing, she closes her eyes, feeling taxed from the gentle gesture of his touch. The feeling of his fingers wrapped around her wrist wrenches the last of her energy from her body and she wants to sleep. She wants to sleep right here across the street from his home, so that little bit of security lingers several yards away and she can wake up without guilt consuming her.

His home, his family, his stability. Not his Olivia or his problems but his security wrapped around him like a quilt.

She sniffs, not even realizing the moisture running down her cheek. A single droplet trails down her skin on the side facing away from him and she wants to swat it away with frustration but he'll know then.

He seems to know now what lingers in her despair but perhaps he's only shielding her from her transparency so she has some bit of dignity left when she leaves.

Shaking her head, she gently pulls her hand out of his intoxicating hold and finally drags her palm down her tear dripped cheek.

"I'm going to go," she finally vocalizes. She's had enough of the platitudes she knows he doesn't quite know how to give out at times. But she can live with the ones he's given tonight. It doesn't mean she wholeheartedly believes him or that her aches will disperse but his reassurance in 'them' is enough. She hopes.

"Liv," he protests immediately. "You need to talk to someone…" a beat passes. "To me," he adds softly, something in the hitch in his voice making her flinch.

Staring at his thick fingers now gripping the window ledge she keeps her focus there as she reaches for the keys in the ignition again.

"I'm going to go, you need to go back inside, it's late. Kathy's probably up waiting for you."

"Nah, she's not."

Lifting her head, she stares ahead before glancing at him, "She's probably in there wondering why your partner is suddenly acting like a lunatic. I tell ya, Elliot, I'm beginning to start to wonder that myself."

Elliot suddenly raises from the sill and disappears from her line of sight. She turns the keys and the engine rolls over easily and she closes her eyes, exhausted by the night and the unknown emotions pouring out of her, but relieved he's let her go.

That's until she hears the side door swing open and his staggering presence pouring into the passenger seat next to her.

He pulls the door closed with a dull thud and he just sits. He focuses straight ahead through the windshield and annoyance slips through her resolve only briefly before guilt once again and that's when she wipes her hand down her mouth, trying to figure out where this night is going and fast.

"What are you doing?" she asks, eyeing him from the driver's seat warily. "Your family? Kathy? I'm sure you're keeping them up and it's my fault."

"Kathy's not home," he utters quickly. "Maureen took Eli and Kathleen to her apartment tonight. The twins, I don't know, they're twenty, they're at a college frat party right now for all I know."

Silences permeates the inside of her car as his words float around them. She wants to insist that she's keeping the ghosts in his house awake instead but she knows he's past the jokes now, there's something inside of him that is desperately ready for answers now. From her.

She's effectively thrown him off his game and she hates that. The detective in his blood is failing him now because of her own selfish need for his presence.

"Elliot."

"Drive," he pants.

Her brows bunch as she turns her head towards his profile. "What?"

"Drive," he pushes out more insistently.

She can't help it this time, "You mean you don't want to sit in this exact spot and divulge your worries over your fraternizing college student children?" she laughs softly, briefly. "Don't worry, Elliot. They're your kids, they'll be fine."

He turns his head toward her to meet her gaze and he's not having it. His eyebrows lift and it's the first moment all night where she feels safe enough to breathe and reassured that she isn't about to lose control.

"Drive," he repeats once more and this time he pulls his seat belt around his body and hooks it, waiting for her to abide by his gentle request.

Nodding, she chokes on the seriousness of their positions. "Where?"

He shrugs his shoulders, "I don't know. Anywhere, somewhere where you're willing to talk to me, and tell me that you're not thinking of leaving me again."

 _When I die, I don't want to be alone. I want to make sure that we're fine so I don't die in vain._

 **. . .**


	3. Chapter 3

_Before I Hit the Ground_

Chapter 3

Elliot/Olivia

Spoilers: Maybe slight references to the remaining episodes after Pursuit, season 12. This story will take on its own AU universe while keeping the history of the characters intact.

* * *

"He told you to drive you _both_ somewhere?"

"Yes."

The interest in Sicily's voice increases and Olivia must suppress an eyeroll, "Where?"

Sighing, Olivia pushes the hair from her face and holds it above her head as she holds her breath.

A moment passes before the answer flows from within her, "You would be surprised."

"That tells me nothing," Sicily chides. "Where was his wife?"

"Out of town."

"Oooooh..."

Olivia interrupts her swiftly with annoyance in her voice, "It wasn't like that and you're the one who told me to talk to someone. Well, Elliot agreed to but sitting in front of his family's home at midnight was bound to get his neighbors talking so we drove."

"Now we're getting somewhere. How'd it go?"

. . .

"I sort of forgot who we were that night in that hallway."

"In what way?" he asks softly as he glances at her from the corner of his eye.

"All I wanted when I saw you round the corner was for you tell me that what had all just happened wasn't real. If you hadn't seen it all, it couldn't have been real," she whispers.

"I would have tried if I'd known how to make it true. Though, I'm thinking it _wouldn't_ have made it any less real for you."

"I know you would've."

He hesitates, twiddling his thumbs before continuing, "What's different? What's different today than 13 years ago, Hell, even 5 years ago?"

"That's what I'm struggling with."

"You think you're done. This being the final straw?"

"I don't know," she whispers as she glances out the diner window as they sit across from each other in a booth near the back.

Their reflections glare back at them as the moon slips in through the slatted blinds. She watches his reflection as he rubs a hand down one side of his face only for his hand to land with a dull thud next to his coffee mug.

Most of the forty-minute drive to Staten Island had been quiet. When she'd veered off at the exit, she'd watched him from the corner of her eye as he rubbed his palms up and down his sweats clad thighs.

 _"Bathroom break?" he had joked from the passenger seat._

 _She smiled slightly and glanced into the rearview mirror before answering, "Something like that."_

Now, as they sit in the diner, his voice brings her back to the present, "I'm risking my pension driving out an extra ten minutes from the precinct than it normally takes me, if we should get called in."

Smiling but not feeling it deep inside, Olivia takes a sip of her own coffee before turning back toward him as he leans over the table on his forearms, glancing every so often at the other patrons slipping in and out of the diner, the detective in him not quite asleep either.

"I dreamed that David Adams had my mother in that bathroom and that I was watching her die on the floor."

Her soft voice jars him, but it's not the timber of her words, it's the impact of what she's divulged, she can feel it in the way his eyes latch onto her. But she keeps her eyes down, and rubs her thumb against the ceramic mug.

"We've been in a such a good place," she begins again, "that I'm scared that this case is getting to me, too much….," she trails off.

"I don't mean to be insensitive, but that's an understatement."

She looks up then and catches his eyes. They're bright despite the hour but she attributes that to the caffeine swimming through his veins. He speaks, but no words permeate her mind. Only the light reflecting off his irises seep from him and into her.

"Your mother…," he adds softly, "she wanted you to leave SVU didn't she?" he points out.

She takes a deep breath and closes her eye briefly before looking straight at him again, "You remember that? I think I mentioned it in passing one day not long after she and I had had that conversation."

"Yeah, I remember. It sort of struck a chord with me considering I was going through partners like M&Ms at that point. I figured I should gear myself up again for a new one soon after that. But that day never came."

Nodding, she smiles with a little more sincerity this time at the memory of their earlier years together.

"It was you who really convinced me to stick with it. I guess I'm kind of asking for that favor again."

His eyes lower as she lifts hers to see his reaction.

He picks at the napkin sitting in front of him before he answers, "I can try, but if you've made up your mind already, then I'm afraid all my energy would be useless," he says lowly, a hint of sadness in his timbre.

Glancing out the window once more, she whispers her own sadness, "When I left Alicia after Sonya's death, and while we were talking to David Adams in prison, I couldn't help but notice the lack of despair. While I know better by now that everyone grieves differently, it stuck with me. After Sonya had fought so long to find her little sister, it's as if Alicia felt nothing. I was the same way," Olivia trails off…

"When your mother died?"

Nodding, Olivia looks at him again and she sees his fingers twitching on the table and his other hand fidgeting involuntarily and she can tell he's aching to reach over, reach for something, anything.

It's that Benson and Stabler Tango, never letting up and never getting a firm grip. His voice takes on the role of music in her ears and she basks in it.

"But you dealt, Liv. You grieved…. You went through the motions and then the real thing."

"Yes, but…. This case isn't like avenging my mother's rape. It's different because I could still smell … the alcohol on Sonya's breath even there in the bathroom of the place she was seeking refuge from that demon. I would have smelled my mother's breath that night if I'd been with her leaving the Velvet Room. And I'd have been no different from Alicia. Indifferent. Sonya was a victim of her own ways. The day I feel nothing is the day I feel like I've let my mother down because then what am I here for?"

. . .

It feels good to let the wind hit her skin, it bites just enough to keep her awake. The early morning air has a chill to it but it warms her from inside out. She sits in the passenger seat now as Elliot drives them down the interstate back toward Queens.

He offered to drive her back home first and he'd just walk the few blocks to the precinct for the sedan and then head back to Queens. She'd refused to let him do that. She already had him out late at night sans an SVU case anyhow.

But she felt good now.

Having told him what was weighing on her mind had lifted a heaviness from her chest.

She felt like that if someone else knew that she'd really felt nothing for a human soul bleeding out before her, then she wasn't being self-deprecating for naught.

As she lets her arm dangle out the window, the wind pushes and pulls against her muscles and it reminds her of the tug between her and Elliot. It's as if it's some wicked metaphor for their relationship.

He's usually the push, she's the pull in their partnership. Some days, though, she's the push and he's the pull and she closes her eyes when he speaks into the night air, his hands planted firmly on the steering wheel of her car.

"Sonya was nothing like your mother. Not even a little bit."

"They both drank," she murmurs into the darkened car.

"That's the one common denominator. But, their situations were very different. So, here's my plea… Don't let the comparison and how you reacted to each defeat your purpose in this unit. I'm not even sure why I have to say this," he rasps while never taking his eyes off the road. "Thirteen years. This is just a normal hiccup detectives in our unit should go through more. It's not healthy to keep it all bottled up. Isn't that what you told me before? What you're experiencing is normal. Just…. Don't let it swallow you," he finishes.

Her eyes well up at his sincerity and she shocks both of them by reaching over, and grasping his closest hand. He easily releases his hold on the wheel to respond and the warm, roughness of his palm sends goosebumps as well as security through her.

She splays her palm upward against his thick fingers.

He glances over briefly, his throat bobbing up and down as he swallows. He doesn't speak, but allows her to hold his free hand, and she swears she feels his pulse in his fingertips when he eventually returns the grip tightly.

He squeezes her hand hard two times before letting their conjoined hands lay in the seat between them.

It's the solidness of his hold that coaxes her into a light sleep as he continues to drive. Her head rolls sideways against the window sill and it's the wind that dries the single tear drop cascading down her right cheek, not her free hand planted to the side of her face, elbow propped on the arm rest. Numb to the rest of her body.

Rest.

It comes in waves these days and that rings true when her eyes slip open seemingly only moments later.

In reality, it's twenty minutes later that she's sitting in his drive way, watching the light seep from inside his house onto the front porch via his front door.

She doesn't register where she's at until he comes out with a sweater, she thinks probably belongs to one of his daughters, in his hand.

He sidles up next to the rolled down passenger window and she blinks before raising her head from the vinyl seat, "Were you thinking of just leaving me here all night without a goodbye? I'm a little hurt," she murmurs jokingly, her voice dry with sleep.

He leans his hip on the door and holds out the cardigan, "I just went inside to look for my back up cellphone battery. I saw it on the couch…," he hands her the warm material. "I thought you'd might like it on your drive back to the city. The temps dropped quite a bit since the sun's gone down."

Nodding, she reaches for the garment gratefully and holds it in her lap, trying to clear the sleep away. She's about to turn her head toward him and ask for the keys when he beats her to the punch.

"Ignition."

She looks at the keys dangling there and nods "Thanks. Thanks for everything," she expels the words as a breath as she moves to open the passenger door, waiting for him to move aside.

He starts to move away before intercepting her again and taking her away from the thoughts slowly accumulating again about their night and the reason they're both here in the first place so early in the morning.

"You know you don't have to drive back right away. You could catch some sleep in our guest room or on the couch before we're due back in."

She contemplates his offer and notes the deep fatigue slowly taking over her as she feels a slow, chill seep into the car from the outside. Rubbing her eyes with her index finger and thumb, she reopens her eyes and catches Elliot's gaze.

"I don't know, I don't want to keep you any longer than I have. I'm sure you're sick of me. I know I'm getting there," she jokes sleepily.

He scoffs lightly before crossing his arms in front of his chest, "I'll just sit inside staring at the walls. At least come in and make use of the thousands of channels we never watch. I don't think I could sleep anyways, coffee's got me wired," _on top of other things_ , she reads in his expression as he glances away from her.

It's almost enough to get her to decline and make the hefty drive back to her apartment, the emotional fatigue in his resolve permeating her own and making her regret, for a slight moment, the whole night. Or nights.

But she closes her eyes and weighs the pros and cons of taking him up on his offer. This is a rare occurrence in their tandem. The Benson-Stabler Tango takes a turn down the uncharted linoleum and she has to count to … five… too tired for anymore, in her head before giving in and letting this part of Elliot indulge her. The soft, somewhat hidden side.

She'd be lying if that thought alone didn't waken her senses, dissolving the fatigue that had been creeping up on her little by little.

Reaching for the door handle again, she nods her head and pushes and he backs away the rest of the way. She glides outside the car and stands in front of him.

"Sure. I think I'll definitely take you up on your guest room."

She sees the corner of his mouth raise slightly before he nods stepping to the side as they walk side by side up the front steps to his home. The Stabler home.

She knows as they do that she didn't think the pros and cons through very long, perhaps she'll have enough time to do that as she lays awake in the unfamiliar familiarity.

. . .

" _Carrie, I lied to you. I played mud football with the guys. I didn't have to work late."_

Olivia's eyebrows raise,

 _"_ _You lied to me? Are you serious right now?"_

The other voice, rough and scratchy, continues, _"You have to understand, you can't leave me for Victor or whatever his name is."_

Olivia's eyes pop open.

She's lying on her back in the guest room of Elliot's bedroom and she can hear light murmuring coming from the living room right outside. She'd always liked the setup of Elliot's home.

His and Kathy's bedroom and the guest room along with the kitchen and first bathroom were situated on the first floor while his kid's bedrooms and second bathroom were on the second floor. His oldest daughter, now out of the house, had been using the guest room, judging by some of the décor and belongings but other than that, it's simple.

As she glances around the room, she catches sight of the digital clock on the dresser across the room and it's only been an hour and a half since she and Elliot returned to his house in Queens. She wonders how long his wife will be out of town and itches to ask him…. later.

It's 2:30 am and she strains her ears slightly to hear what the murmuring from the other room is saying.

Sighing, she pulls away the covers on the bed and wraps the sheet around her tank and jeans and heads toward the living room.

She sees the glow of the television dancing across the hall and living room as she rounds the corner and stops short when she sees Elliot.

He's against the far corner of the couch with a light blanket draped over his waist and legs, but his chest is bare. His face is faced toward the television but his eyes are drooped so low that she knows he's close to falling asleep.

She bites her lip and tries to step backwards so she doesn't disturb him when he turns his head toward her slowly, opening his eyes as he does so.

"Did I wake you?" he mumbles drowsily.

Shaking her head, she lies, "No, I just… had a weird dream."

"A nightmare?"

Shaking her head again, she walks slowly toward him before sitting on the edge of the cushion, "No, it was just… odd."

She glances at him from the corner of her eyes and watches as he reaches behind her and grips the back of the couch to help pull himself into a more of a sitting position, allowing her to sit against the back.

When she does so, she catches what he's watching on television finally and it's the King of Queens. It's the episode where Doug comes down with the flu and keeps having fever dreams of Carrie finding out he lied to her about working late and playing mud football in the rain.

Shaking her head, she nods toward the television as Elliot pulls the cover he'd been using up to his neck and leaning his head against the side rest.

"I like this episode. Also kind of ironic it takes place right here in Queens."

Smiling, Elliot looks at the television before commenting, "S'why I like it. Nice to have some comedy after a long day at work."

Olivia understands. She closes her eyes and drifts asleep, the sound of Elliot's soft breathing right next to her and low murmur of the television, a welcome distraction from the seemingly nonstop thoughts threatening to pull her down.

. . .

She opens her eyes two hours later. She glances next to her and Elliot's not sitting next to her on the couch anymore but coming from the kitchen.

She looks up as he steps around her legs and sits next to her, closer than he'd been when she'd dozed off a few hours ago.

His voice sounds in the now quiet room.

"You should put your legs up. Not good to have them dangling all night," he whispers as he sits back, and lifts his legs onto the coffee table. She watches his every move from the corner of her eye and glances at his face as he concentrates on making himself comfortable before she does the same.

She moans at the stiffness in her knees when she raises her legs but places them side-by-side to his.

The next time she wakes up, she's surprised and a little stunned to have her head cocked sideways and touching Elliot's. She notes the stiffness in her neck but it subsides when she feels his breath hit her bare shoulder.

At some point during the last bout of slumber, they'd slumped toward each other, using the other person as support. She turns her head and the skin of her forehead rubs against his ear and she closes her eyes. He moves slightly in his sleep but doesn't budge beyond that.

She revels in the feeling of his skin against hers and it's nothing like she'd thought of before. The whole evening prior has been nothing she'd ever thought of before. They'd never really spent the night together like this and she squeezes her eyes closed.

She realizes the dangerous territory that drifts into and has to try and tuck it away into the same secret compartment inside her like she'd done several years before when Elliot had been too close, to tangible. Oregon. Computer Crimes. _I work here._

She hears her voice that day vibrate in her mind as she glances around the room looking for the time. She finds the analog above the doorway and sighs at the time. It's nearly 7:30 am and she should head back to Manhattan soon so she can shower and get fresh clothing.

At the same time, she hates that she'll have to wake Elliot who seems to be in a deeper sleep than she was. She gently reaches up and touches his shoulder, gently shaking him.

His breath hitches slightly but he doesn't budge, only turning his head into her more and breathing against her neck. She has to suppress another sigh and swallows deeply before reaching her hand to his cheek and shaking him again.

"Elliot…. wake up."

Slowly, his eyes open and he's staring at her, his blue eyes drowsy but aware of their close proximity and her hand on his jaw. She gets so caught up in the fact she was caught with her hands on his skin that she has to clear her throat.

"I gotta go," she whispers into the short space between their faces. "I'll see you at the precinct," she utters and it almost sounds like a question though she's not sure why she needs reassurance that she'll see him when she's the one questioning everything. But she does question.

Nodding, Elliot reaches up from beneath his blanket and quickly grasps her hand that was slowly falling from his face.

"Did you get any sleep at all?" he rasps, his eyes rising slightly and the lines in his forehead intensifying far too early in the morning.

Taking it as a cue, she turns her hand around and cups his, squeezing it before releasing it into his lap before sitting up.

"Yeah… I did. More than I thought I would. Thanks, Elliot."

He nods and looks at the coffee table with his feet still resting on top. "You don't have to thank me." He slowly lowers his legs before sitting up slowly to where he's level with her again. "I think I slept more than I thought too," he smiles slightly and she enjoys that look on him. Too many days have passed where the only expression he seems to harbor is one of contempt, and she knows it's not towards her, it's just his way of steeling himself against another day of grime and crime.

She knows the feeling, though she's been able to tuck away that feeling and use that energy toward helping the victims.

She glances at Elliot again, and decides to end their night together on a high before they head back into another heavy day inside the precinct.

She squeezes his closest hand and gives him a closed lip smile before standing up and heading toward the guest room. She quietly gets redressed with the clothes she arrived in and then heads toward the front door.

She sees him coming from the kitchen, in a new dress shirt, dark pants, and work shoes already. "I'll see you at work," she reiterates, swallowing and reminding herself she should leave now or she'll be late for work. And that'll be a bad thing when Elliot lives thirty five minutes further than she does.

He nods and she can feel his eyes watch her as she drifts out the front door and into the front seat of her car. She sighs, once more, sits for a few seconds, then reaches into her bag for her keys before making the drive back into Manhattan.

TBC


End file.
